


Nine Months of Hell

by SweetDevilMePlease



Series: Raising James [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Doctor John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson is a Father, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Sherlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Is A Mother, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDevilMePlease/pseuds/SweetDevilMePlease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thought dealing with Sherlock was bad enough. He couldn't imagine how bad a pregnant Sherlock was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Months of Hell

**_Month One:_ **

****

                The sickness had eventually slowed immensely, but there were still those few times when Sherlock would move in a way that his stomach didn’t agree with and breakfast would no longer be in his stomach. John struggled to get Sherlock to eat when they were on a case. Sometimes, he’d have to force feed him, which was embarrassing to both of them. But there was one day when Sherlock wasn’t having anything.

“J-John!” he called out, curling up on the bed, clutching his stomach. He’d only taken one bite of his breakfast when he got sick again.

                John was up in a matter of minutes with a two wash cloths. “Oh, Sherlock….” he said softly, combing his fingers through his hair as he threw up into the trashcan beside the bed.

“Throat stings..” Sherlock muttered after he was done. John wiped his mouth.

“It’s because you haven’t ate anything. You’re throwing up stomach acid. Finish eating the toast. You should be able to keep that down, at least.” John sat Sherlock up.

“I can’t keep anything down today!”

                John sighed. “I know, but you have to eat something. You’ll get even sicker if you don’t eat.”

                Sherlock felt sick again and he laid back down to ease it off. He reached to the plate, grabbing the piece of toast. He slowly took a bite and chewed, looking back at John. He rubbed his back soothingly.

“That’s it. Call me when you’re done eating.” He rubbed his arm before standing and leaving his room.

                Sherlock ate the toast slowly, watching his partner leave. He sat up, legs crossed underneath the blanket. He scratched his bare chest as he leaned back against the headboard. He dumped the rest of the plate of food in the trashcan. He dropped the plate on the floor, listening to it clatter loudly. John came up, sighing.

“Did you at least eat the toast?”

                Sherlock crossed his arms. “Yes, I ate the toast.”

“You’re so childish sometimes,” John sighed.

“Bite me.”

                John snorted as he picked up the plate, setting it on the night stand. “Well, if you insist…” he said, placing his knees on either side of Sherlock, who tried to fight him off, but he was weak from throwing up. John ended the struggle with his hands pinned to the wall above his head.  His mouth closed around a soft area near his ear. He applied light pressure and Sherlock inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes, gripping John’s shirt, trying to pull him away but to no avail.

                When John finally did, he’d left a large love bite on the side of his neck.

“That won’t be going away for a while,” Sherlock said, rubbing the area that was just bitten.

“You’ll be fine.”

                John’s phone vibrated in his back pocket and Sherlock reached back to pick it up. He made a face at the contact. He texted back whoever is was and returned the phone to John’s back pocket. John didn’t expect to be informed of who it was.

“Are you feeling better?”

“…Yes.”

“See, I told you you needed to eat something,” John said, climbing off the bed. “And now, if you’re done puking your guts up, put some clothes on. We’re expecting people.”

                Sherlock smirked, picking up the trashcan and bringing it into the main room where he sat a chair a couple of feet away from the other. He wrapped his blanket around himself tightly, and he sat down as John brought in another chair. John scratched his head then shook it. I guess Sherlock was going to be looking for clients in a sheet today.

“Are you wearing any pants?”

“No.”

“Alright then.” John brought out a set of clothes. “Whenever you decide to get dressed, love,” John called as he walked into the kitchen.

 

**_Month Two:_ **

****

                Sherlock didn’t seem to be gaining any weight. Since he’d stop throwing up so much, he’d been more active, running around London, jumping buildings, all of this against John’s words, which was exactly why he did it. There wasn’t much use in telling Sherlock not to do it. He’d do it anyways if he found it necessary.

                John was insisting that Sherlock see a proper doctor, but Sherlock shrugged it off each time, going to the kitchen to finish one of his strange experiments.

“Why would I need to go out and see a doctor, when I got one right here?” Sherlock asked.

“If you haven’t noticed, I was a bloody army doctor! I fix gashes, blown off body parts and the liking. And quite frankly, I’ve never delt with a pregnant woman, much less a man!”  John rubbed his temples.

                Sherlock shrugged. “Reason enough. I still don’t understand why I’m pregnant…” He stared at the results in front of him.

 

**_Month Three:_ **

****

                Sherlock was starting to show signs of his pregnancy. Sherlock could still fit his pants, but barely now. If he wasn’t such a twig, it wouldn’t be so bad,  John decided as he climbed into the taxi beside an uninterested Sherlock. Shopping wasn’t one of his favorite things to do. That’s why he never does it. The traffic was heavy, so it would be a good minute before they could get to a store to get Sherlock more pants—well clothes in general. He’d only been sitting in the taxi for a few minutes and he was already bored.

                John was prepared. He opened up his backpack, taking out a three-by-three Rubik’s Cube. Sherlock scoffed.

“I’ll solve this in two minutes.” And so he began to do.

“No problem. I’ve got plenty of them for you to solve during our wait.”

                Sherlock threw the cube back at John when he finished his sentence. “Done.”

“Shengshou makes them all the way up to eleven-by- eleven,” John said as he handed him a five-by-five.

“Excellent!”

                John rolled his eyes, setting the bag between him and Sherlock  so he could freely reach into the bag for another when he was done.

“How many of these do you have?”

“For you? A lot.”

 

**_Months Four through Five:_ **

****

                Okay, it was safe to say the mood swings were happening. How does one deal with an unstable sociopath? Very carefully, John decided as he dodged the last attempted swing from Sherlock. He had his hands raised as he back out of the kitchen.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I didn’t—“

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Sherlock yelled, grabbing the frying pan off the stove and throwing it at John. “I know what you meant! It doesn’t change a damn thing!”

                John jumped out the way of the frying pan. Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table, head in his hands. “I’m fat, John…” The ex-soldier slowly moved to wrap his arms around his neck from behind. He pressed gentle kisses along his neck and ran his fingers slowly through his messy hair. “How do you put up with me during all this?”

“It takes a very specially kind of person to even be crazy enough to stay…” Sherlock chuckled, turning his head a bit kiss the corner of John’s mouth.

                They were fine afterwards until Mycrof showed up. John wasn’t going to be the one to convince Sherlock not to beat his brother. He was rather encouraging it. With a frying pan.

 

**_Month Six:_ **

****

                John’s eaten a lot of bizarre things before, but this…..This was making him sick just _watching_ Sherlock eat it with no problem. He was craving ice cream and pickles, so John went out and got him ice cream and pickles. He didn’t know he was craving them _together._

“Sherlock…..that’s just….That’s just unhealthy.”

“I get my daily exercise chasing you around with the frying pan. I’ll be fine,” Sherlock said, waving the man off as he dropped slices of pickles into the bowl of ice cream.

                John grimaced as Sherlock to a pleased bite. Ugh, oh, yeah. He was definitely going to be sick.

 

**_Month Seven:_ **

 

                Sherlock was blaming John form him being pregnant, in which John didn’t deny. He stayed by his side until he head to leave for work, calling in and checking on him every so often. Arriving back at the flat, he was met with a groaning man on the floor.

“Sherlock, what happened?” John asked, going to help him up.

“I…uh….I…fell…And I couldn’t get up…” Sherlock blushed a dark shade of red.

“Why didn’t you text me?”

“I didn’t have my phone…”

                John sighed. “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock…You’ve got to be more careful.”

“Thanks…”

“We need to get you to a doctor to get you properly checked out, Sherlock.”

“No! I refuse.” Sherlock sat on the couch, arms crossed over his large stomach.

                John sighed again. “Alright. Fine.”

                John sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, picking up one of Sherlock’s legs. He’d been spoiling the man silly massaging his swollen ankles, but it did ease his nerves to hear the soft sighs leave Sherlock. Going from as thin as a twig to pregnant was bit much for his ankles. He shook his head. How has he survived this long with the pregnant man?

 

**_Month Eight:_ **

 

                Sherlock was virtually immobilized by now, blowing off every case offered to him, he chose to lie on the couch or in bed to do his thinking. If the task seemed to farfetched for him to do, he put it on a mental list for him to do it later. John was at work, and he was in desperate need of some clean clothes, but his feet hurt too bad to even think about getting up and washing them. He’d shuffle to the kitchen and grab a cereal bar when he was hungry and then he’d lay right back down.

                He was thankful when John came home. He actually thought about cooking something, but he felt like he couldn’t make it through such a simple task.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” John asked, squatting in front of the couch to lightly touch the man’s face.  “Need anything?”

                Sherlock sighed softly. He hated being on bed rest, not being able to do some things on his own. “Can you get some of my clothes washed up? And can you cook? I thought about doing it myself, but—“

“Shut up. You know I’ll do it for you.”

                John smiled softly and stood. Sherlock grabbed his sweater. “Can we abort the mission?” He sat up slowly, meeting John’s eyes. Well, that was an obvious no. “Can…I think I…The doctor…” was all he mumbled.

                The ex-soldier laughed lightly. _Now_ he decided he wanted to go. He helped Sherlock find his shoes and he helped him outside as he called a cab.

 

**_Month Nine:_ **

****

                John wasn’t sure how much more his hand could take. Sherlock had went into labor, and John couldn’t feel his fingers, but nonetheless, he tried to help keep him calm until the ambulance arrived. Naturally the paramedics were shocked to find a pregnant male, ultimately saying something that pissed off the Sherlock. Sherlock in pain was not one John wanted to deal with.

“Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh,” John murmured, taking his fingers through his hair. “Calm down, calm down or you’ll go into a panic attack. Just relax, relax. You’re fine.”

                John had used that voice, the very same voice that had gotten them into this whole strange mess.  But goddammit! It was so soothing that Sherlock’s breaths deepened and slowed. He inclined his head toward John’s hand, calming down. He continued to praise him in that sexy voice. His contractions were half an hour apart, John staying by his side from the ambulance into the hospital.

                It was when they were becoming minutes apart that John started to lose the ability to keep him calm, and he was rushed into an emergency C-section. And John was there through it as well.

               

* * *

 

                Sherlock was exhausted by the end of the day, and he slept quietly after two hours being out of surgery. John sat by Sherlock’s side, with their baby girl, James, in his arms. There was no doubting that she was Sherlock’s. Her face was long and her hair was the same color as her mother’s. John sighed softly, putting her down. There was room on the bed for John to wiggle in after kicking off his shoes. Sherlock shifted, scratched his nose, and he laid his head on John’s shoulder, his arm resting on his chest. John combed his fingers through dark curls until he, himself settled down for some sleep as well.


End file.
